


first sight (we love without reason)

by agrestenoir



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Identity Reveal, Kissing, Romance, Soulmates, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agrestenoir/pseuds/agrestenoir
Summary: Marinette knows she’s meant to be with Adrien Agreste because their timers say so. But that doesn’t mean she loves him.Their shared zeroes blink in unison, but there’s no click that all soulmates are supposed to feel. Their relationship is a learning curve where she forces herself to fall, even though she’s desperately in love with her partner, Chat Noir.(Or: the Soulmate Timers say Marinette and Adrien are soulmates, but Marinette isn’t in love with Adrien. It makes sense though: you can’t love half a person. But she doesn’t know that. Neither of them do.)





	first sight (we love without reason)

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for [ theoncomingcroat](http://theoncomingcroat.tumblr.com/) for the ML Secret Santa 2017. You mentioned fantasy and angst, and I immediately thought of a soulmate au, and I ran with it. I had a lot of fun writing it, so I really, really hope you enjoy it. Hope you're having a wonderful holiday season!
> 
> Special thanks everyone over at mlfanfiction for being my sound board, guinea pigs, and giving me al the support and feedback and encouragement I need. It's greatly appreciated and I love you guys.
> 
> In regards to this story, it's definitely angsty, but there's a hopeful, happy ending. There's a resounding theme here, and it sort of explores what it means to be a soulmate and what happens after the initial connection. And cross your fingers, there might be a part 2.
> 
> So, without further ado, please enjoy the story.

 

Dark clouds hang heavy in the sky outside, a thick sheet of raining pouring down hard as thunder and lightning shake the world like an explosion. Marinette places a hand on the cold metal of the door, eyes tracing the path of rain droplets down the glass until they fall on her wrist. The  **0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s** blinks steadily against the pale backdrop of her skin in the dim hallway of the school.

Another hand rests atop hers, breaking her silent musings to pull her attention elsewhere. Beside her, Adrien simply smiles and squeezes her fingers tightly between his own. “Forget your umbrella again?” he asks, even though he knows full well she did.

It’s not the first time this has happened.

Cocking her head, Marinette smiles sheepishly. “I was running late this morning.” She throws in a shrug for good measure, not that she has anyone to convince.

“Don’t you mean every morning? Why are you even late all the time, anyways?” Adrien retorts as he slips a black umbrella from his bag, pressing it into her open hand. Marinette can only smile sheepishly; he doesn’t need to know why she’s always late. “But don’t worry, that’s what you got me for.”

With a quick peck on his cheek, Marinette takes the umbrella. “Thanks. I’ve gotta head home, so I can’t come over tonight. Homework and all that, you know how it is.”

Adrien laughs in response, and it feels like a rock has sunk into her stomach. She hates lying to him. “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Of course.” Soft eyes settle on him as she smiles. “I love you.” The words feel like paper on her tongue though. There’s no substance to them, just a forced and familiar phrase that falls like a dead leaf from a tree. She doesn’t mean them, and she wonders if she ever will.

“I love you too,” Adrien says. It’s as lackluster as the first time he said it.

He raises his hand in a small wave, and she sees his timer, his own  **0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s** looking innocently back. If he notices her stare, he doesn’t care. Marinette turns back to the door, pushing it open where the cool afternoon breeze kisses her cheeks, but she stops suddenly when she catches sight of her wrist again.

**0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s**

Pressing her umbrella into her other hand, Marinette slowly pulls the sleeve of her jacket over the timer.

It doesn’t do well to dwell on things you can’t change.

Outside, the rain pours harder.

Marinette walks home, footsteps slow and sluggish. The heavy  _ pitter-patter _ against her umbrella has turned into a mindless drone in the back of her head, distracting her from every thought she doesn’t want to have. They’re the hard ones, the things she doesn’t dare touch as doing so might wreck everything. Might force her to accept some truths that are better off being believable lies.

She tightens her grip on the umbrella handle, and her jacket sleeve slips down, revealing her blinking timer.

**0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s** is her bible, a book of truth she can’t burn.

Running a thumb over the black numbers, she tries to remember the excitement that brewed when they first zeroed out, but the feeling has long ago run tepid. Now, in a time of shared umbrellas and quick kisses, emotions are fleeting things that must be smoked out before they gather any real substance. If she forces herself to feel even a little, she knows she’ll do something she’ll regrets.

Overhead, there’s a flash of back against the gray sky as Chat Noir leaps across the Paris rooftops.

Marinette itches to join him.

 

*

 

Their first meeting isn’t like what you’d find in the movies.

Most people recall the slow burn that bubbles in your chest when you first set eyes on your soulmate. It feels like fate  _ click _ s into place, a puzzle piece you didn’t even know was missing, and then suddenly it’s you and them, and you’re together, and now you can be happy.

“We were head over heels from the first moment,” Marinette likes to tell people, and while  _ yes _ Marinette and Adrien’s first moment  _ did  _ involve some head over heels, it wasn’t in the way that most expect.

It’s the first day of school, and Marinette is running late per usual, a box of macarons held tight against her side as she bolts down the street. Heart pounding out of her chest, she turns a corner, trying to keep up with her feet when she collides with a stranger. The box of macarons slips out of her hand, tumbling across the sidewalk as she falls in a heap against the nearest building.

“I’m so sorry!” the stranger, and Marinette glances up, seeing his furrowed brow and kind eyes. There’s a soft  _ beeping _ that flits through the air, but she just sees the pastries on the sidewalk and a ticking clock in her head.

She pushes herself up on trembling knees, gathering up the box and her bag. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Sorry!” She takes off with her cargo, eager to beat the tardy bell, and gives the stranger no room to speak.

“ _ Wait _ —!” he calls out, but Marinette is already gone.

Something tugs at the back of her mind, screaming at her to turn around and  _ look back _ . Instead, she keeps on running.

If she’d look down, just for a split second, at the timer on her wrist, she’d see the flashing zeroes—the same ones that are mirrored on the pale skin of the stranger she’d collided with.

Marinette just keeps running.

The stranger, Adrien Agreste, tries to follow because he, unlike her, has noticed that his timer has zeroed out. Eventually, he loses sight of her and spots Nathalie and Gorilla further down the street, so he gives up the chase and darts through the park to beat them to the school.

Marinette finally notices later that day after her first time in the Ladybug mask, when she throws the earrings back in the box and shoves it in her dresser drawer, trying to pretend the Miraculous never existed. The blinking zeroes on her wrist startle her. For the rest of the night, she buries herself under a mound of blankets and cries herself to sleep because of her failure—to her city, to Tikki, and to her soulmate.

When she thinks through the events of her day, the only remarkable new thing in her life is Chat Noir. A part of her wonders if he’s her soulmate. Someone strong and confident, a protector and partner— _ the perfect soulmate _ , she thinks,  _ I could get used to that _ —and now she regrets denying the Miraculous. But then Adrien Agreste comes to school the next day where she finds him hunched over her seat with wet chewing gum.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” she asks, stalking into the classroom with Alya at her heels, as the blonde boy is startled and left sputtering to form a proper response. Behind her, Chloe and Sabrina’s laughter echoes like a siren, and anger bubbles in the pit of her stomach. “Okay, I get it. Good job, you three. Very funny.”

She’s already let down Paris. She’s already lost her soulmate. She’s not going to let this petty, prissy blonde model ruin what dignity she has left.

“No, no.” The blonde pushes himself to his feet, green eyes wide in panic and frustration. “I was just trying to take this off—” And then he stops, mouth open in surprise.

She elects to ignore him. “Oh really?” she snaps instead, putting a handkerchief over the gum, too messy and sticky to try to peel off. “You’re friends with Chloe, right?”

When she turns back to face him, he’s still staring at her.

“It’s  _ you _ ,” he says in a breathless whisper. “It’s  _ you _ .”

Suddenly, the world turns quiet, still in its orbit.

He thrusts his hand out wards her, palm facing up with his timer bared to the world. Shaky fingers cover a zeroed wrist, tracing the skin around the numbers, before he starts tapping the timer face urgently. “You collided with me… o-on the street corner, remember?”

The timer reads  **0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s** —zeroes all the way down to the seconds.

Suddenly, Marinette’s world has changed.

All there is him and her and their zeroed timers.

“I-I thought I lost you.” Adrien’s voice is raw. “I thought I’d never see you again, but it’s you.”

Marinette studies his bared wrist and takes in her own, before she inhales deeply, heart throbbing painfully in her chest. Across the room, Chloe is growling lowly, the rest of the class silent as they watch the first meeting of two supposed soulmates, Alya waiting with baited breath. In front of her, Adrien’s wide green eyes stare at her as his smile grows.

Her ears burn where the Miraculous once hung, and it’s heavy with their ghost. The weight of what she’s given up, what she’s lost, what she’s gained settles heavy on her shoulders. She’s not a good hero, she’s not a good partner, and the person she thought could fix everything never belonged to her in the first place. Chat Noir was never hers.

But here is Adrien Agreste, a boy who is looking at her like she hangs the stars, like she’s the one he’s been waiting for—the same boy who put gum on her seat, who’s probably just like Chloe Bourgeois, who’s only goal in life is to make other people miserable.

“I thought I lost you,” Adrien says again, and his face is glowing. “I can’t believe I found you. You’re my soulmate.”

“Yeah,” she whispers softly, keeping her eyes trained on her feet as the reality crashes down.

“I…” Adrien is speechless. Raising a hand, he reaches towards her—desperate for a touch, anything at all—but she flinches back.

Brows furrowed, nose wrinkled in distaste, Marinette’s eyes burn with unshed tears as she fixes Adrien with a burning glare.

“Lucky me,” she spits, “That my soulmate’s a  _ jerk _ .”

 

*

 

It’s raining outside, and Marinette’s forgotten her umbrella.

She holds a hand up to the stormy sky, water droplets dripping from her cold fingers. The sigh that escapes her is long and tired. Though that’s mainly because it really  _ has  _ been a long and tiring day. Becoming Ladybug, accepting the mantle of becoming Paris’s superhero, meeting her soulmate, finding out said soulmate was a massive  _ jerk _ … It’s almost too much for her to handle.

Marinette leans against the brick entrance of the school, wondering how long it would take her to dash home in the rain, when the sound of the front door opening startles her. She goes to greet the person, a warm smile already stretching across her face, but it freezes when she catches sight of Adrien Agreste.

Her timer burns against her skin. She ignores it.

Turning back to the rain, she hopes the storm will wash him away. Instead, he shifts his weight and opens his black umbrella. “Hey,” he says with a small wave.

Ducking her head, Marinette lets out a loud  _ hurrumph! _ .

“I just wanted you to know that I was only trying to take the chewing gum off your seat, I swear.” A small smile curls the corners of his lips, something so soft and fragile that if Marinette reached out, she could probably break it without any real effort at all. “I’ve never been to school before. I’ve never had friends. It’s all sort of… new to me.”

There’s a short moment of silence between them, the span a single heartbeat, and then Adrien is handing his umbrella to her. “What’s this?” she can’t help but ask.

“An apology,” he offers. “Look, you’re… my soulmate, and we’ve already gotten off on the foot, and… I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m really, really sorry.”

Marinette stares at him, blue and green eyes locked, and for a moment, time stands still. “I…” Hesitantly, she reaches out and grasps the handle of the umbrella as Adrien presses it into her hand, the warmth of his skin lighting a buzz against hers. “…Thank you.”

( _ He looks so much like Chat Noir, _ her mind whispers.)

“I… I’d love a second chance,” he says. “We’re soulmates, and we’re not supposed to hate each other, and I’ll do anything I can to change—”

“I don’t hate you,” Marinette interrupts. “And… I’d love… a second chance with you.” After all, Chat Noir and Paris gave her a second chance today, why can’t she do the same for her soulmate?

“So… a second chance then?” Adrien asks.

Marinette nods with a soft smile. “Yeah.”

“Well, then, my lady. My name is Adrien Agreste, I’m fifteen years old, and I’m your soulmate.”

Marinette laughs helplessly. “My name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I’m fifteen, and I’m your soulmate.”

(They’re meant to be.)

(They just don’t know it yet.)

 

*

 

So Adrien Agreste is her soulmate.

But sometimes, she still hopes—that the boy in the faux-leather cat suit with the kind green eyes is her soulmate.

It makes the most sense for why she’s in love with him.

 

*

 

Ladybug has some preconceived notions for what being a hero entails.

In the beginning, the mission is what’s most important. The people you save, defeating Hawkmoth, protecting the city—it’s all that matters in the grand scheme of things. Nothing else will ever come close.

After that first day, when she denied the Ladybug mask, Marinette has determined that failure will never even be an option again and tries long and hard to make sure it stays that way. Some Parisians call her cold in the beginning, but after a while, she melts under the public eye because being a hero means being approachable, being welcoming, being an inspiration—a hope.

In battle, she’s still calculating and confident, doing everything in her power to succeed, and to turn things around when Chat Noir is messy. Her battle strategies are strict and professional, leaving no time to gamble or take risks like her partner has a flare for doing. Sometimes she yells at him, snipes on the bad days. She never said she was a perfect partner, but Chat Noir never tells her she’s being hard on him, even though she knows it to be true. Nonetheless, she tries to put distance between them, but like everything else, he changes too.

Somehow, he worms his way past her defenses. He’s full of bad puns, a blinding charisma, and a textbook of smiles that settles over her like a soft blanket, comfortable and familiar. Her partner’s presence soothes an ache she doesn’t know she has. They wear masks for the world and for each other, and while it’s her decision to keep their identities a secret (and he accepts that), it doesn’t mean she’s happy with the outcome.

Safety isn’t always the first thing on her mind anymore.

There are days she wants nothing more than to know who he is underneath the leather cat suit, know his name and his story, know everything about him and be a part of his life. Chat Noir isn’t just her superhero partner. He’s become her friend, and it hurts to hide from the one person who means the world to her.

She wants to be a part of his world.

She doesn’t say the same about Adrien.

(A part of her wishes Adrien was more like Chat Noir.)

 

*

 

It’s not always bad.

Adrien isn’t a bad guy at  _ all _ —his second chance proves that. He treats her right, which is something her Papa has always wanted for her, and he’s charming and kind, which is something important for her Mama. But he isn’t someone she’s interested in spending her forever with, even if the timers say they’re meant to be.

Adrien is too effacing.

In the months since they started their relationship, since they’ve grown close, Marinette still feels like she’s talking to Adrien Agreste, world-famous model, instead of her soulmate. It doesn’t matter what they’re doing or talking about, perfection leaks—practically  _ oozes _ —from every pore.

Perfection is a key ingredient in the recipe of Adrien Agreste, a habit he can’t seem to break (even though she  _ tries  _ to pierce the shell). His words are precise and clinical, lacking any real substance, and sometimes Marinette feels like she’s talking to a marble statue than an actual human being. His appearance is always pristine with not a wrinkle in his shirt or a hair out of place, shoes never scuffed or worn. Napkins remain unstained, plates in a café after eating as clean as before the food came. He has a clean image to portray, even to her.

Adrien has a systematic way of doing things—how to talk and socialize, how to eat and sleep, how to be a soulmate.

Every morning he greets her with a kiss on the cheek, gives her a ride to school, and they clasp hands before walking to class. During the day, he offers her notes if she misses them, they study together in the library between periods, share lunch together in the quad. After school, he gives her a ride home, and some days they’ll camp out at one another’s houses, doing homework or playing video games to pass the time.

Most people would say they have the perfect relationship, but that’s the problem for Marinette. Things are perfect, and it’s too much.

Any error in appearance is a trick of light, a hallucination she’s desperately imagined, because she searches for a crack in his façade every moment she can, but it’s been four months, and she still knows next to nothing about what makes her soulmate tick. Basically, she doesn’t know who her soulmate  _ is _ .

In the four months since they’ve been soulmates, Marinette still hasn’t fallen in love with Adrien. You can’t fall in love with a stranger, after all.

(Instead, she’s fallen in love with Chat Noir.)

 

*

 

As Ladybug, Marinette knows Paris like the back of her hand.

On her solo patrols, she ventures into the night with a plan in mind. She knows where the Seine twists and turns, knows that the Eiffel Tower has the best vantage points, knows Hawkmoth sticks to the heart of the city (because she’s never seen an akuma farther south than the Le Mauritius café on Rue Ernest Cresson, and it makes since he needs to be where the heroes are).

Her patrol route is strictly routine, a straight shot down the Seine before she shoots towards the Notre Dame, coming around the Eiffel Tower and sweeping up to the Arc de Triomphe, before she circles back towards the south. The whole route takes all night on foot—a few hours by yo-yo. Like a waltz without music she dances to by memory, she can slip out and into the late evening without a second thought, the route becoming habit, everything around her becoming familiar.

Somewhere along the line, being Ladybug teaches her how to fall in love with her city.

The Paris night settles around her, and she’s immersed in the feeling of  _ home _ . The hum and buzz of traffic in the streets and the creaking of metal balconies as civilians meander about under the moonlight. The taste of the boulangeries on the tip of her tongue and the cool breeze that brings the faint scent of flowers from the florist across the block. The cracked cement of rooftop foundation beneath her gloved fingertips and the touch of brick from the chimneys she sometimes rests upon.

Everything is peaceful, beautiful, perfect—it’s just her and the city lights, with no soulmate or real life to bother her. This is the time when she throws herself to the wind and tries to forget about Adrien Agreste.

Sometimes though, Chat Noir joins her even on his nights off.

Marinette thinks she should be angry. For someone who values her privacy and quiet time, having her partner with her on her solo patrol nights should  _ bother _ her. But it doesn’t. It never has.

Beside her, Chat Noir makes god awful puns and eggs her on with flirty, witty banter, his smile contagious and bright, eyes sharp and soft at the same time. Metal flashes under streetlights and moonlights as his baton plants and extends, catapulting him over the city, as he follows her like a ghost, a shadow at her heels, her other half.

There’s something about these patrols that changes things for her. Nighttime brings down barriers between them, leaving room for them to get to know one another, to ask questions they’d otherwise be afraid of asking.

It’s where he learns she loves to sketch, how she wants to be a fashion designer someday, and is bisexual. She could live off snickerdoodles if allowed, comes from a small family, and can’t cook at all. It’s how she learns that he’s allergic to feathers, speaks fluent Chinese, and loves Thai food. He adores this family-owned bakery by his school where he always buys strawberry tarts, his shoes smell like Camembert cheese from where he hides food in them for his kwami, and his favorite color is blue.

(It’s everything she wishes she knew about Adrien. It’s everything he probably doesn’t know about her.)

It’s also where Marinette finds out Chat Noir has a zeroed timer.

His claw taps the fabric-covered wrist with a wry smile. “Zeroed out a few months ago, actually.” His shoulders hang heavy, head bowed low.

“You don’t look too happy about it,” she observes from beside him as they sit on the Eiffel Tower. Leaning close, she peers at his wrist as if she could see through his suit, as if she could change the numbers, change fate. “Wasn’t who you wanted or something?”

Chat Noir shrugs half-heartedly and lets out a soft chuckle. “There was a…  _ misunderstanding _ when we first met. She thought I was a jerk, and I don’t think she’s forgiven me for it yet.”

Marinette’s heart bangs against her ribcage like a wild animal trying to escape. “Well, that doesn’t seem right. Soulmates are supposed to be perfect, right? You meet them, and you get a happy ending and everything. That’s how the timers work.”

“I wish that’s how real life worked, bug.” He shakes his head.

“Don’t be silly, kitty. I’m sure things will work out.”

“Something tells me it’s not gonna be that easy.”

“It should be though,” Ladybug protests. She puts a hand over his wrist, intertwining her fingers with his. “My soulmate…”

Chat Noir’s expression dims. “You got a soulmate too, Ladybug?”

She nods hesitantly. “Yeah, we met a while ago, but…” And suddenly, it strikes her just how cruel the world could be. “He’s not who I thought he’d be.”

“Maybe it just takes time,” Chat Noir says, and his voice trails off, like he’s not even sure if he believes those words himself.

_ It’s not fair _ , Marinette thinks to herself,  _ he should be happy _ . If there’s one thing Chat Noir deserves, it’s a soulmate who loves him. Of all the people she knows—herself included—it’s her partner who is entitled to the fairytale happy ending the most.

She’d give up Adrien if it meant Chat Noir could be happy.

(And  _ this _ , Marinette suddenly realizes, is what it means to be in love.)

 

*

 

Maybe Chat Noir is right.

If time is what it takes, then Marinette is going to make the most of it.

As Adrien is nothing but perfect in every way she needs him to be, she decides that perhaps she should show him the same. She can be the perfect soulmate if she tries hard enough.

When he greets her in the morning, she kisses him first, pressing a quick peck to his cheek, his forehead, his jawline—wherever she can reach (because perhaps he's become tired of always taking the lead on their relationship). Some days she brings breakfast to school for him, an assortment of croissants and rolls, whatever she managed to sneak from the bakery that morning. (She still doesn't know what his favorite pastry is.) She always makes sure to ask how his day is going, how his family is, gives him first choice for movies or cafes. Honestly, Marinette is doing all she can to be perfect, but the more she tries, the more Adrien seems to pull away.

(It's like he's wearing a mask, and she can't lift it no matter how hard she's trying. Maybe, much like Chat Noir's, she simply isn't meant to.)

Sometimes, there's mistakes.

For his birthday, she spends weeks knitting him a lovely scarf in a blue, plush fabric that would compliment his complexion, and when she gives it to him, his eyes go soft and his smile grows wide. It's the first time Marinette can honestly say that she's seen a true smile from Adrien Agreste, so similar to the smile he gave her when the first realized they were soulmates. But the next day, he barely says a word, too overcome with some inner turmoil, and it isn't until she pulls the answer out of Nino that she realizes he was having problems with his father. (I'm supposed to be your soulmate, she thinks bitterly, but I had to pull that answer from your best friend instead of you talking to me about it.)

The worst part: she never sees him wear the scarf she painstakingly crafted for him.

When Gabriel Agreste hosts a design competition for a bowler hat, Marinette spends hours between an akuma and Chloe Bourgeois to make the perfect hat, complete with beautiful hand-stitching and feathers, only for Adrien to be absent from school for two days while he tries to combat his feather allergies after modeling her winning design. (Another thing, she tells herself, that he should've told her.)

The more she tries, the worse things become. Their interactions become habits, a dance they've memorized the steps too with none of the passion. Marinette doesn't know what else to do. In the months they've been together, she knows nothing about Adrien Agreste that she couldn't find from a magazine.

What's the point of being a soulmate when your other half won't share their soul with you?

But then there's Chat Noir, and she feels like she knows him better than her closest friends. They’ve mastered the language between them. He can tell from a glance what she's thinking, from the curl of her lips what she's going to do, from the tone of her voice what she means.

Marinette knows Chat Noir has zeroes on his wrist, and she knows that he knows about hers.

...But that doesn't stop her from  _ wanting, wishing, hoping _ that things will change. Like one day, her timer will blink back into existence, and the numbers will be a countdown until their next shared patrol. There are times they fly through the city streets, and he'll leap ahead, and she'll pause on a street light and just  _ watch _ him, so carefree and alive, and hold her timer close to her heart, willing it to make a sound.

It never happens though.

Marinette wonders if he wishes the same thing. Chat Noir is a typical teenage boy, edged with flirty one-liners and witty banter, godawful puns, and an Eiffel Tower charisma, but sometimes there's a look in his eyes. Marinette's been around her parents her whole life, and she knows what it looks like when someone's in love.

More than anything, she hopes Chat Noir knows her true feelings and wants to reciprocate them... But they  _ can't _ . Each has a soulmate already, and things won't change. If there's one thing Marinette's learned in her time as Ladybug, it's that you can't fight fate. Once it's made a decision, it's your best bet to go along with destiny.

She has a duty as Ladybug—to her city, to her partner... and to Adrien, her soulmate. Falling in love with someone other than your soulmate: the idea's impossible to fathom.

So Ladybug and Chat Noir don’t talk about it.

(It doesn't stop the longing in her heart though.

Marinette doesn't think it will ever go away.)

 

*

 

Adrien and Marinette don’t talk either.

She can’t say she’s disappointed.

 

*

Marinette is hurt.

Her parents often joke with family or friends about the infamous Dupain-Cheng temper, one that few will ever survive if faced with its full wrath. In a single glance or with simple words, she can tear a person down and burn the world. At rest, it's a boulder, nearly impossible to move, so it's rare to see Marinette angry. But once lit, it's a dynamite, and you only have a few seconds to take cover before the everything explodes.

Stone and dynamite have one thing in common though: they aren't always strong enough.

Chloe Bourgeois throws a party, and Marinette is invited (or rather Adrien is, and she's his "plus one"). It's a casual get-together with many their classmates and a bunch of others she doesn't know in one of the upper suites of the hotel, where there's punch that has a bitter alcoholic taste, and the music is so loud that she can feel the base deep within her, jarring her cold, damp bones with the beat. It's not exactly a scene she'd frequent, but at this point in her life, she's fifteen, almost sixteen, and has stopped caring.

She almost gets caught in the center of the suite which is full of people bumping and grinding and dancing to the music, but Adrien leads her over to the appetizers on the tables that line the wall and away from the crowd. His hand is on her lower back, leading her to safety, like a knight in shining armor escorting the princess through dangerous territory. Just like she hasn’t learned anything about Adrien in the months they’ve been together, he’s learned nothing about her.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is no damsel, and she doesn’t need rescuing.

It takes three cups of punch before her heart is racing, the lights are brighter, and the colors are fuzzy and just out of focus. But like most things in their relationship, it’s enough. It’s perfect.

Her words are slippery, dripping from her lips as easy and fluid as a waterfall, as she pushes against Adrien. “I wanna dance,” she tells him, pressing him closer to the crowd. “Come on.”

Adrien goes stiff beside her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says instead, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

He’s pulling at her arms, back to the safety of the wall and meandering couples, but she’s not going anywhere with him. “No,” she says again, tugging at his arms. “Let’s dance and have some fun.”

“No, really. Let’s just stay here… and talk.”

“We  _ never  _ talk,” Marinette snaps. Her eyes are burning, full of the same fire she stares down akumas with. “Don’t start trying now. I want to dance, and if you won’t dance with me, I’ll find someone else who will.”

(It’s everything she wishes she could tell him:  _ if you won’t be my soulmate, I’ll find someone else who wants to be. _ )

With a sigh, Adrien caves in himself. “Fine, let’s go, but not too close to the center, I don’t like crowds.”

Hands on her hips, her arms slung around his neck, they rock side to side with the music, the sweaty bodies beside them brushing close. Adrien gulps quietly, and she can tell he’s uncomfortable, so she pulls him close with a feather-light kiss on his jawline.

“Eyes on me,” she says, fixing her gaze with his own. “I’m the only one here.”

(She thinks:  _ I’m the only one who should matter _ .)

“You’re… different,” he says after a while of dancing, when the movement and music had been enough to fill the silence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so…”

“Tipsy?”

“…Raw,” Adrien supplies instead. “Or flawed.”

Marinette cocks her head in confusion. “What d’you mean?”

Adrien’s nose wrinkles as he searches for the right words. “I mean, it’s always like you’re trying too hard. I’ve never seen you so loose and in the moment, I guess, if that makes sense?”

Something churns in the pit of her stomach, and it’s not excitement or joy, like the bubbly taste of champagne on her tongue, but rather the slow simmer of a boil before it erupts. It starts low, frothing up until it nearly overflows, and suddenly… Marinette’s  _ done. _

“And what’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” she asks, and she wishes she hadn’t.

They’ve stopped dancing by now, standing still in the middle of moving bodies.

Adrien shakes his head. “Nothing.”

He untangles himself from her, stepping away and back towards the tables. Face hot, from the alcohol or the anger, Marinette isn’t sure. “No, no.” She chases after him, one hand gripping his wrist to keep him from leaving, fingers covering his timer. “Tell me what you meant.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It sure didn’t sound like nothing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Adrien tells her, eyes narrowed in frustration. It’s the first  _ real  _ emotion she’s seen from him, the first crack in the mask. “I didn’t mean to say anything.”

“Well, you did, so let’s talk about it.” Marinette crosses her arms against her chest, refusing to budge.

Beside her, Adrien almost flinches at the words, but then a shadow crosses his face. “I thought you said you didn’t want to talk.”

She’s angry now. Truly, positively angry. “You know what,” she says, hands clasping into tight fists at her side. “I have been trying to get you to talk for  _ months _ , but you never listen, and I absolutely hate it!” She’s almost screaming by now, but she can’t seem to stop. “I’ve tried everything to get close to you, but no matter what I do, it’s like you’re wearing this… this  _ mask! _ I don’t know who you are, and I’m your soulmate. We’re supposed to tell each other everything!”

“What more do you want from me? I’m trying so hard to  _ be _ what you want!” Adrien is pressing closer, but the chasm between them feels bigger than it’s ever been.

“That’s the point!” Marinette spits. “I don’t want what you pretend to be. I want  _ you _ !”

Adrien is silent. Marinette has nothing else to say.

“I’m leaving,” she says lowly, shaking all over. “We can talk tomorrow if you  _ feel _ like it.”

She goes home and cries.

(It’s how she spends most of her nights anyway. By now, it’s nothing new.)

 

*

 

“You don’t look so hot, bug,” comes a voice from behind her. She doesn’t need to turn around to see who it is. Chat Noir lands on the beam beside her, the  _ click _ of his baton as it snaps to his belt, as he hunkers down on his haunches. “Rough night?”

“Something like that,” she mumbles from her cocoon, legs pulled to her chest and arms wrapped around the tops of her knees. Her face is buried somewhere in the middle. “We had a fight, and I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

Chat Noir chuckles lowly. “I can relate.”

Ladybug manages a wry smile. “Thought you were having a date night with your soulmate?”

“It didn’t exactly… go as planned.”

“You storm off?”

“She did actually.”

There’s silence between them, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled, and Ladybug simply leans against her partner as the tension slowly drains from her body. There’s definitely something ethereal about a Parisian night. Sitting atop the Eiffel Tower, wind blowing her hair back as they stare out over the city, huddled next to the only person who could ever possibly understand her, Ladybug doesn’t know what to do.

“Do you ever wonder,” she begins, voice almost a whisper, “if fate made the wrong choice?”

“With what?” Chat Noir asks.

“Deciding who your soulmate is.”

“…Sounds like you’ve been doing a lot of thinking, bug,” he murmurs against her suit, lifting his head with a soft sigh. “Things really going that badly between you guys?”

“…I can’t love him,” she tells him honestly.

“It just takes time,” he tells her, an echo of what he’s said before, but Ladybug is already shaking her head in denial.

“No, no,” she says. “I have  _ tried _ to fall in love with him, but nothing has happened.” And Marinette has  _ tried— _ she really, truly has—but it’s like trying to catch lightning. It always strikes before you can grab it with you in close enough contact to get hurt. “I don’t think I’m capable of loving him… ever.”

“It can’t be that bad.” Chat Noir places a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.

“I can’t even explain it in a way that makes sense, Chat.” Her voice is raw and choked. “It’s like I’m trying to love half a person when they’re supposed to be  _ my other half _ .”

There’s silence again. Chat Noir tips his head back to look at the sky, at the moon and the stars that guard it. “I understand that… more than you know.”

A single tear drips down her cheek, slow and thick, like candlewax. “Yeah?”

“…Yeah,” he responds.

And then he lowers his gaze, eyes locked on hers, and they pause. There’s warm hands against her skin, cradling her face like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Can I try something?” he asks her, and she’s already nodding because she knows what he wants to do.

She wants to do it too.

She kisses him then—kisses him hard. It’s wet, messy, and rough, but she knows they’ve both been waiting a long time for it, so nothing else matters. Chat Noir shifts and tilts his head, slotting his lips against hers and begins to move. There’s teeth and tongue, hot touches against wind-blistered skin, and his claw-tipped thumb rubs against the apple of her cheek.

When they finally pull away, she wonders if the press of his lips is visible like a sunburn or scar, evidence that this happened. In the end, it’s still too short, and she wants more, but she knows she can’t have it. Because even though she loves him and he might love her, they still have other people who are their soulmates, and nothing can happen between them.

“I-I’m sorry,” Chat Noir begins, slipping away from her on the beam. “I shouldn’t have done that. You have a soulmate, and I have a soulmate, and I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” she tells him honestly, reaching out to grasp both of his hands and pulling him close. “I… needed that. Thank you.”

There’s a smile on his lips and a soft look in his eyes, and suddenly something  _ clicks _ . At the very sight of him, Marinette’s heart fills with joy, and she can barely speak. Flustered thoughts, half-finished sentences spill from bloodless lips, cheeks warm from Chat Noir’s heavy gaze. She can’t function right.

Her skin burns where her partner’s claw tips etched feather-light words into it. It’s a book of truth on the back of her palms, a tangle of secrets that lock it shut, like her hidden diary no one must know about.

Black against the dark night, eyes shining like the moon, he stares at her like she’s his North Star and can lead him home.

It’s how her father looks at her mother.

It’s how soulmates look at each other.

 

*

 

“Are you feeling better?”

Morning classes slip slowly by, the clock barely ticking as they settle into their free period, and yet Adrien still feels the need to bring the world to a standstill. Marinette trains her gaze on her notes to avoid Adrien’s quizzical eyes, pencil scratching a random design in the margins of her paper—anything to distract her from the conversation that’s long overdue between them.

“I’m fine.”

Papers shuffle as Adrien shifts in his seat, resting elbows on the table as he props his head up in his hands. “I’m ready to talk now… if you want.”

Around them, the library drones on in a mid-day lullaby to the tune of books sliding off shelves and keyboards clacking on computers. Silver sunlight seeps into the room through the window on the wall, shrouding Adrien in a golden glow like a halo. He looks as perfect as he pretends to be. The library is lively, the light holy, and Adrien’s almost ethereal. 

But Marinette longs for the night when she can don a mask, hide in the shadows in the dark city, and be with her partner who is chaos incarnate. Darkness lets her hide, but at the same time, she’s never felt more vulnerable.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I just drank too much and said some stuff I shouldn’t have.” Marinette shrugs, idly turning a page in her notebook. “Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“Marinette,  _ look _ at me.” Shifting in his seat, Adrien grabs her by the shoulder. “Please…  _ talk _ to me.”

“Adrien, I just…” Taking a deep breath, she leans back in her chair and finally looks at him. His eyes are glimmering with emotions she can’t name, can’t understand. She wonders if she looks the same way. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Because her heart is hurting, and she doesn’t understand anything anymore.

Adrien bows, seeming to crumble in on himself. “Okay,” he says, because that’s the kind of boy he is. He won’t press her if she doesn’t want it.

He’s kind, he’s considerate, he’s perfect. Anyone would be lucky to have Adrien Agreste as a soulmate, so why can’t she fall for a boy like him?

There’s silence, and then Adrien slips in: “You know I love you, right?”

It’s  _ him _ : sweet, short, and simple. It hurts though.

It doesn’t matter to Marinette that their timers zeroed out on a street corner and that fate has decided their meant to be, because fate also made her Ladybug and gave her Chat Noir, so fate obviously has some plans for her that extend  _ beyond  _ the typical soulmate scheme. What matters is that Marinette is even more confused than ever, and she’s hurting two people she cares deeply about, and she just doesn’t know what else to do.

“I know,” she tells Adrien, but she won’t return the sentiment.

She can’t lie anymore.

(She just  _ can’t _ .)

 

*

 

“What’s your favorite color?” Marinette asks Adrien two days later. It comes out of the blue, a passing fancy that leapt to the forefront of her mind, and suddenly it’s the single most important thing she knows.

Adrien looks up from his spot on her bed, tousled hair falling into his green eyes, reminding her eerily of Chat Noir for a moment. But then he’s shaking his head, and the moment is gone.

“Blue, I guess?” he says, but it comes out like a question. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” she supplies, turning back to her homework.

There’s silence between them, and then Adrien asks, “What’s yours?”

“Pink.” Gesturing to the room around her, full of pink and cream, she can’t stop the soft smile that stretches across her face. “I don’t know if you can tell.”

Adrien’s rolling his eyes, laughter spilling from his mouth. “I never would’ve guessed.”

She laughs too. It’s the most honest conversation they’ve had with one another.

“Favorite food?” she asks.

Instead of answering, Adrien quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “Why the sudden interest in my favorite things?”

Marinette glances at Adrien, her heart thundering in her chest. “I just want to know. Is that a crime?”

“No,” Adrien replies. Brows furrowed like he can’t understand the situation (and neither can she), he props himself up on his elbows, dropping his pencil against his notebook. “You already know these things though?”

“No, I don’t,” she says to him.  _ I don’t know anything about you _ , is what she doesn’t say.

“I’ve told you all this before—months ago.” Adrien’s voice is growing louder, eyes growing tired. “Or were you not  _ listening _ to me?”

And  _ oh _ .

Her mind goes back a week ago to the night at Chloe’s party, where the alcohol was a truth potion she couldn’t afford to take but did, and words were exchanged on both sides of a war where neither knew they were fighting. Marinette remembers her accusations—how they never talk, how Adrien never listens, how she doesn’t know who he is.

It turns out things weren’t as perfect as Adrien liked to pretend they were.

“Do you really want to do this?” she asks.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” he supplies, closing his book. “So I’m just giving you the opportunity, like I’ve trying to do all week.”

Shame bubbles in the pit of her stomach. Avoiding people probably wasn’t the best course of action, but she’d made a pact not to lie. Confronting how she feels about Adrien and Chat Noir isn’t something she’s sure she’s ready to deal with; however, like with most things in her life, fate decides for her.

“I’m sorry,” she starts off, but Adrien is already shaking his head.

“You’re always saying that.” He’s sitting up now, running a hand through his hair in irritation. “Stop it.”

“Well what do you want me to say?” she asks.

“What you meant that night at the party, how you feel like you don’t know who I am.” Adrien stares at her for a long moment, trying to organize his thoughts. “Is that really how you feel? Like you don’t know me?”

Marinette looks at him steadily, eyes dark in the half light of soft twilight. “There’s nothing else to say. I don’t know you.”

“But you  _ do _ ,” he presses.

“But I really  _ don’t _ ,” she says. “Everything I know about you is something I can find in the back of a magazine, in some article about you. It’s surface stuff, really. I know you speak Chinese and your favorite color is blue, but I don’t know the things that  _ matter _ . I know nothing about your family, what you want to be when you grow up, or even that you were allergic to feathers… which, I’m still  _ really, really _ sorry for.”

His expression softens as he waits for her to continue.

“I know it seems stupid, but those things really matter to me,” she tells him, pressing a hand to her chest, right over her heart. It throbs painfully in reply. “When people talk about soulmates, I think about my parents—who know everything about each other, who’re so incredibly happy together, who can pick up on anything, like when they’re happy or sad or upset… And I don’t have that with you.”

There’s a pause. Adrien shifts so that his legs are dangling off the edge of the bed, bumping the beams of the metal ladder. There’s a faraway look his eyes, emotions she can’t discern swimming in their green pools. Inside, she feels hollow.

“Sorry,” she says again, because what else is there to say? They’re both a mess. “I guess… I’m just tired of trying to figure you out.”

“I’m your soulmate,” Adrien tells her. “Isn’t that enough?”

Marinette shakes her head, huffing softly. “There’s so much more to soulmates than just a name. At least, that’s how it is for me, and I just can’t… I don’t know who you are. You’re too perfect, like you’re constantly wearing a mask, and I can’t see behind it.”

“Maybe you’re not meant too.” His voice is easy, his words evasive.

“And I have a problem with that.”

It  _ hurts _ that Adrien still isn’t being open with her, even in the face of her confession. Bringing their cracks to light is supposed to allow them a chance to fix things—that’s how these things are supposed to work out. Life, however, as she’s quickly realizing, isn’t like the fairytales she grew up hearing about. Though she’s known this for a while, reality still  _ fucking hurts _ when it finally hits you.

“Well what’re we supposed to do about it?” His face is blank; she can’t read him.

“I don’t know.” If she did, they wouldn’t have ever reached this point.

“I can try… harder,” he offers weakly. “I can be someone that you’re—”

“Don’t you get it yet?” Marinette snaps, eyes burning holes into his, like she’s trying to see inside him and find what makes him tick—what she’s been trying to do for months. “I want you to be _you._ I don’t want whatever façade you’re trying to show the media, or for you to feel like you need to hide things. My soulmate isn’t _Adrien_ _Agreste_ , some prestigious model for his father’s fashion company. My soulmate is _Adrien_ , the stupid boy who ran into me on a street corner and tried to take chewing gum off my seat.”

“I…” Adrien’s voice trails off.

“What?”

“I always thought you hated me,” he says, but it comes out soft and distraught. “F-For the chewing gum thing. I’ve been trying to make up for it.”

“What’s there to be mad at?” She cocks her, quirking an eyebrow. “You were trying to help me. You were being nice. You’re…. always nice. It’s kind of annoying sometimes, if I’m going to be totally honest here.”

“I’m… too  _ nice _ ?” Adrien struggles to understand her words, blinking hard. “That’s your problem with me?”

“No, no, that’s not what I said—”

“Well that’s what it sounded like!”

“Damn it, Adrien, that’s not what I meant, and you  _ know it! _ ” She slams her hand on her bed rail, the metal shaking and piercing like a siren in the empty room.

“You want me to be a jerk, Marinette?” She can only stare at him in a stunned silence as he whirls around, lips curled into a frown and eyes narrowed like he’s in pain. “You don’t want me to be perfect, you don’t want me to be nice, but you don’t want me to be a jerk.  _ This  _ is my problem with you! I don’t  _ understand  _ you!”

Marinette clenches her hands into tight fists. “I don’t want you to be  _ anything _ , I just told you—”

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” he says, frustration tinging his voice. “That’s the thing though: you always say words, but none of them ever make sense. It’s like a game I can’t win, trying to figure you out. Sometimes you’re so stiff, like you’re trying too hard and just going through the motions. And other times it’s like I see… a new Marinette, someone who isn’t afraid to be herself and have fun and be…  _ happy _ .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she responses heatedly, cheeks flushing.

“It means that you say I wear a mask, but you’re no different.” Adrien’s nearly screaming now, but she can’t stop him. It’s already too late. “I know you have your secrets, and I respect that. We don’t have to tell each other everything. But don’t be a hypocrite and say I’m the only person wearing a mask when you do too!”

Marinette wants to say:  _ I’m trying so hard to be perfect because I want you to feel comfortable with me. I just want to get to know you because, from what little I’ve seen, you’re a pretty incredible person.    _

She wants to say:  _ You’re my soulmate, and that means something to me. _

She wants to say:  _ I could love you someday. _

She says, “I kissed someone else.”

Adrien stares at her. “What?”

Marinette is breathing hard. “I… I kissed someone else.”

“Why?”

“Because…” And does she even have an answer for him? “Because I love them, and they’re someone I really need right now. I don’t have to pretend with them, not like I have to with you.”

“Oh.” His voice is tired and raw, like he’s already accepted it.

…and what else is there to say? She can tell from the look on his face, eyes red-rimmed and lips pursed in a resolute expression that he’s already made his choice. Whatever might have been between them—any spark that they could’ve kindled into something brighter—it’s gone now, snuffed out like a candle’s fragile flame. Marinette’s done the one thing she didn’t want to do—ruined everything.

“…I kissed someone too,” he says after a while.

She flinches at his words. She doesn’t mean to, doesn’t have the right to. It still hurts though because she’s his soulmate, and he’s  _ hers _ —just like Chat Noir is  _ her _ partner.

“Why?”

“Because they understand me, and I think…” His voice trails off, but Marinette doesn’t need to hear the rest.  _ I think I love them _ .

There’s silence between them. Neither want to be the first to break it.

After a while though, the tension is too much, almost unbearable. “Are you mad at me?” she asks.

“What’s there to be mad about?” he says, an echo of her earlier statement. “I did the same thing.”

There’s silence again until she says, “Do you… ever think that timers made a mistake with us?”

Adrien gnaws on his bottom lip, trying to sort through her question. “I think… That the timers told us who we’re meant to be with, but it’s up to us to make it work.” He looks up after a pause, eyes inquiring. “...And it’s not working with us, is it?”

It’s quiet again, just like every meaningless conversation they have, but it doesn’t feel like there’s as much of a distance between them this time. This confession has been a long time coming— _ this _ Marinette knows—but it still leaves her feeling hollow inside. Somehow though, they’ve managed to build a bridge between them with the pieces of their broken relationship, and it’s the closest they’ve ever been.

“Adrien,” she finally says in a soft voice. “Has it ever worked with us?”

Her words are the final hit to break everything between them. It rains down in shattered shards, a glass thunderstorm indoors. Adrien doesn’t respond.

And… that’s  _ that _ .

 

*

 

The twin spires of Saint Ambroise Church are stark against the black sky when she looks out over the city, the Eiffel Tower glowing further beyond. Ladybug can see for miles from where she stands. She’s on a rooftop miles from the Champ de Mars next to a crumbling brick chimney after a long patrol, the sky dark and dreary above her, clouds hanging heavy on the horizon. It’s something Ladybug never realized she often took for granted. Clear skies are a rarity during the night, but when she’s always needed them most, they’re  _ there _ —the moon to light the way, the stars to grant wishes.

(She has no more stars to count. No more wishes to cast.)

This time, Ladybug has been avoiding Chat Noir ever since they kissed, ignoring any  _ ping!  _ to her contact, much to Tikki’s frustration. It’s been a few days of peace and quiet, without the usual akumas or other major crime, and Ladybug couldn’t have been more thankful. She doesn’t think she could handle any more stress to her already burdened life right now.

“You’re a hard one to track down when you don’t want to be found,” Chat Noir greets her as he lands on the chimney she’s leaning against. Slipping down so that he’s sitting on the structure, he casts her a wry smile. “And don’t bother lying: I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

Ladybug hunkers lower, shoulders folding forward as if to hide from her partner. It does little though. He’s still here, the warm press of his body against her own, and she can’t run anymore. “Sorry,” is all she can offer. 

“Come here, bug.”

There’s hands on her shoulders that turn her around until she’s between his legs in front of the chimney. The tips of his toes bounce against the bones of her hips in tune to her pounding heart,  _ bu-bump bu-bump bu-bump _ ringing through her ears. Chat Noir loops his arms around her and pull her close, face pressing into the top of her head, and she simply tries to breathe.

“I didn’t mean to,” she murmurs into the crook of his neck.

Chat Noir shakes with low laughter. “I don’t blame you. I’ve been scared too.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” she tells him when he finally releases her, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes, seeing the same look mirrored back. “Where are we supposed to go from here?”

“I’m not sure, Ladybug.” It’s clear he’s as lost as her.

“Why’d you kiss me?” she suddenly asks, the question striking her out of the blue.

Chat Noir is taken back, mouth falling open as he fumbles for a response. “W-Why’d you kiss back?”

“Because I wanted to know,” Ladybug tells him truthfully. She won’t lie anymore.

His eyes search hers for an answer she’s not willing to part with just quite yet. “What?”

Instead of replying, Ladybug steps closer until their faces are a hair’s breadth away from one another. Her curious hands seek the skin of his throat, fingers slipping through the unzipped-portion of his collar, the street lights glimmering against his gold bell. His eyes dart from her gaze, to her exploring hands, and to her lips. Both linger, a moment of hesitation, poised on a precipice of indecision where neither is ready to take the plunge.

With a sharp breath, Ladybug pulls him towards her, nearly toppling him off the top of the chimney, molding their bodies together until there’s not a breadth of space between them. Lips crash in the middle and they kiss—deeply and fully—until she’s breathing in everything he can give her.

She has a fistful of shirt in one hand, the other sneaking up to tangle in the messy blonde locks at the nape of his neck. It pulls a moan from his mouth, a  _ purr _ from his chest, and she can’t help but smile into the kiss. Suddenly, though, he’s pulling away, peppering her jawline with short kisses, until she’s shaking her head to disengage.

Both rest their foreheads against each other, harsh breaths tangling between them, visible to the naked eye in the chilly, evening air. It drifts away like smoke to a fire.

“I needed to know…” Ladybug continues, panting against him, “how I felt about you, and… if you… felt the same.”

Chat Noir closes his eyes tightly. “Don’t you know yet, bug?”

She’s shaking her head because  _ how can she? _ “No, no, how could—”

“Don’t you get it yet?” he asks her. “It’s  _ you _ . It’s always been  _ you _ .”

“And your soulmate?”

“It’s hard to be in love with two people,” he tells her. “And I don’t know what to do.” His eyes shimmer under the Paris moonlight. “Please tell me what to do, Ladybug.”

_ I don’t know how to be in love, _ she wants to say, but she knows the situation. They’re both lonely and lost and hurting, unsure of what the tremulous feelings inside truly mean. Only acting on what they already know: Ladybug and Chat Noir are partners, and they love each other. Their soulmates are questions they don’t have the answers too yet.

Instead, she kisses him again. Lips press together, hurried and hungry, desperate for a touch that their soulmates can’t give them on their own. It’s confusing and maddening for Ladybug because she still doesn’t understand. How can she love someone the universe has told her isn’t hers?

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Ladybug wonders if maybe she should just stop asking questions.

 

*

 

Marinette will never admit it, but she’s always dreamt of having a soulmate she could love unconditionally and with ease. She’s held onto that dream for as long as she can remember, ever since she knew what a timer meant. Watching her parents love, she sees how simple it is, how easy.

It’s what she’s always wanted.  

It’s why it hurts to end it the way she does.

Marinette meets Adrien that following Monday and hands him a brown paper bag. Hesitantly, he takes it and opens it, face going pale when he sees what’s inside. It probably answers a lot of questions he had when she removed it.

“It’s my timer,” she tells him, even though he’s already seen it. “I want you to have it.”

His eyes dart to the scar on her left wrist. It’s covered by a cuff now, so he can’t see it.

“No one has to know,” she says, the months of frustration and pain and denial rolling off her back with every word. “We can keep it strictly between us, or we can pretend it never happened. Really, it’s up to you. It’s our business anyways.”

“You got it removed,” is all he can say. “I was wondering why my timer suddenly went blank.”

She flashes him a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Adrien shakes his head. “No, I ran into Nino and asked about you. He’d just come from the bakery and saw you, so I knew you were fine. I just though the timer had malfunctioned or something.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Stop that,” Adrien admonishes, but there’s nothing hard in his voice this time. “You’re always saying that, but you never need too.”

“I do though,” she protests. “I’ve been hurting you, and you didn’t deserve it.”

“I haven’t been any better.”

“Maybe so,” she says. “I guess we’ve both kind of screwed this up.”

Adrien tightens his grasp on his bag and her timer. “I guess we did.”

Marinette still doesn’t understand. Getting rid of her timer seemed like the best idea at the present time, but she’s still full of regrets and questions that she’ll never get answers too. Adrien isn’t the person that can answer them either—only she can.

The final warning bell rings, and students milling around outside flood the school building. Neither of them make a move to walk to their class though. Instead, they stare at Marinette’s timer, her scarred and cuffed wrist, and they wonder what the next step is.

The silence is what pushes Marinette to act. On trembling legs, she sits down on the stone steps and gestured for Adrien to join her. Shaky fingers pluck her timer from his hands and place it beside them, the white device stark against the ugly brown bag. Without it, she feels lighter, as if she could float away, but her heart, full of her feelings and certainty, has grounded her.

Adrien is warm next to her. His presence is tense, shoulders too stiff and straight, and his eyes are dark and heavy. It’s clear that removing her timer has hurt him. Suddenly, Marinette’s skin feels too tight around her bones, which  _ creak!  _ and  _ crack! _ every time she moves, like she’s too old and worn to give the wherewithal to live. Her actions have aged her.

Her fingers trace the edge of her cuff. “You  _ do _ mean a lot to me, you know.”

“Really?” he asks her, voice curious. Inside, something breaks because Marinette had never meant for him to feel like her feelings for him were a lie.

“Of course,” she says, tapping the paper bag between them. “The point is, though, I don’t need a timer to tell me that. I don’t care about you just because you’re my soulmate, and I’m not trying to force myself to care either. This is something I am wholeheartedly choosing  _ on my own _ —fate has nothing to do with it.”

Adrien fixes her with a puzzled stare. “I guess that’s… good?”

“I think that was my biggest problem with us.” Out loud, the confession shakes her, echoing on in her hollow chest. “I felt like I was supposed to love you, and that something was wrong with me when I couldn’t. The truth was staring me in the face the whole time though: I can’t love someone I don’t know. Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean we have to be in love.”

At her words, Adrien turns to the empty street in front of them, gaze distant and lost. “So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to be your soulmate right now,” she tells him honestly. Cocking her head, she fixes him with an intense stare, eyes searching. “Are you okay with that?”

“I have to be, don’t I?” he says bitterly, nudging the bag with the side of his shoe.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want to be your soulmate,” she corrects. “I’m just saying that I’m not ready. There’s things I want to do, questions I have… People who...” Her words trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

“That person you kissed,” he says, “you want to see what that’s about?”

“I...” She doesn’t know what to say to make this better, but she knows she should leave him with  _ something _ . “He’s really good for me, and I need that right now. We can’t keep pretending like things are okay, Adrien, and we’re just hurting ourselves trying to go through the motions. With everything going on in my life right now, I need someone who I know and who knows me.”

“You’re right,” Adrien tells her. “You’re absolutely right.”

Her heart flutters in response. “Thanks.”

“You know I love you though? Like that’s something I’m certain of.” His eyes are imploring her to understand.

“I know,” she says, clasping his forearms. “And you know I care about you too. That’s one thing that’s never going to change. Even though we’re not together right now, who’s to say that we’re not going to be together in the future? You’re still my soulmate, Adrien, even if I’m choosing something different right now.”

“It sort of feels like you’re choosing someone else,” Adrien confesses, voice soft and fragile, and Marinette hopes she won’t break him. “That you don’t want me as a soulmate.”

“That’s not it at all,” she clarifies. “I’m not choosing him over you—I’m choosing  _ me _ . I’m choosing to take the time to… learn about myself and what I want. And I’m sorry, but I just can’t do that with you right now.”

“Because I’m still learning myself too,” he tells her without prompt.

Marinette smiles softly. “Yeah, exactly.”

“…And this other guy,” he says, “He’ll help you?”

“Yeah.” Cocking her head, she stares at him with an inquiring expression. “And the girl you kissed? Is there anything…? You didn’t say much about her.”

“I love her too,” he says simply. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

Marinette glances up at the stone and steel gate around the school building, at the trees peering over the top, and the blue sky high above. For the first time in a long time, she feels free. “I want you to get that chance to find out. That’s why I’m giving you this.”

“You’re letting me go,” Adrien says.

_ And who knows _ , Marinette thinks to herself,  _ maybe, if we’re really meant to be, we’ll come back to each other someday. _

“So where does that leave us then?” Adrien asks.

“I don’t know about you, but I’d love to be your friend, Adrien, and get to know you properly.”

He shakes his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I guess we did sort of forget that part when we met. Going from strangers to soulmates probably didn’t help.”

Marinette can only laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well, if that’s the case…” He holds out a hand to her, the same one that holds his timer. “My name’s Adrien Agreste, and I’d like to be your friend.”

“God,” she snorts, laughter shaking her body. It’s sudden and explosive—like a firecracker—and suddenly she feels so alive. Adrien’s never made her feel this way, and it’s funny that it occurs after she’s already burning her bridges. “You’re so corny.”

“I prefer cheesy,” is his only response.

“Why?”

“… I promise this is a very good and genius pun if you understood it.”

“God, fine, okay. If this is how you wanna play it…” She clasps his hand with hers, her cuff heavy on her wrist. “My name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I’d love to be your friend too, Adrien.”

“No strings attached?”

“What the hell? This isn’t a one-night stand, Adrien.”

“One-lifetime then.”

Things are perfect.

(This time, Marinette won’t argue.)

 

*

 

The evening is quiet.

They sit next to each other on their favorite rooftop, tucked away in an older neighborhood that they’d found once during their joint patrols. In the distance, they can see the dome of the Pantheon and the twin spires of Saint Ambroise Church, the lights of the Eiffel Tower glowing gold against the burning backdrop of the Paris sky, everything so perfect and wonderful. The scene is some idyllic moment one might find in a romcom movie, right before the two lovers share their first and fated kiss.

This isn’t one of those times, but Marinette can’t help but dream.

Chat Noir pulls her close, and she leans back against his torso. Hands fall to her side, trailing over his abdomen and the long, corded muscle beneath the fabric of his suit. Thighs pressing against her knees, arms looped around her waist, warm breath tickling her cheek—it’s the most comfortable she’s felt in a long time.

( _ It’s funny _ , she thinks,  _ I feel at home in his arms _ .)

His lips press a soft kiss behind her ear, laughter spilling into the space between them. She can barely withhold a shiver. It’s not because of the cold.

This isn’t something she’s ever gotten the chance to experience with Adrien. In all the ways Adrien Agreste is reserved and hesitant, Chat Noir is tactile and expressive, familiar with her body in a way her soulmate can never be. It’s not like she ever truly gave him the chance though. Marinette recalls the fight she had with Adrien when she told him about her parents, how they had developed a language between them after years together, and that’s how her and Chat Noir have always been—since the very beginning.

Perhaps that’s why their relationship is so scary. Why is it so much stronger than what she had with Adrien? Why does their partnership transcend soulmates?

Even though her and Adrien have gone their separate ways, she’s still left with many questions. The separation, though, is giving her a chance to find the answers she desperately seeks, and she’s not stupid enough to turn that down. It’s why she ended things in the first place.

Now she gets to explore things—with Chat Noir.

(She hopes she’s made the right decision.)

Pigeons coo a nameless tune somewhere overhead, in the crevices of buildings, tucked away in stone affairs and hidden from view. Sinking deeper into her partner’s warm embrace, they sit and watch the sunset as soft twilight burns away into night, and Ladybug can’t think of anywhere else she’d like to be.

Chat Noir finally breaks the silence, puffing hot breaths against her cool skin as he speaks, “So what’re we doing here, Ladybug?”

She knows what he’s referring to. She’s be stupid not to.

“Whatever we want to,” she tells him, voice low. “I just know I love you, and I want to be with you. I guess it just depends what you want.”

Thumbs stroking her hip bones, Chat Noir sighs into her hair. “I want to be with you too. I just…”

It’s his soulmate, she knows.

He wasn’t exactly forthcoming with what went on between them, but as far as she knows, his soulmate ended things yesterday. Much like Ladybug and Chat Noir, it appears that his soulmate is having trouble accepting the hand that fate dealt her. Marinette can’t exactly blame the poor girl. Chat Noir only tells her that his soulmate needed time to come to terms with a few things. At fifteen, they have their whole lives ahead of them, so much to do and live through. Sometimes they aren’t prepared to confront their future and forever at such a young age. Things don’t always work out the way they’re fated to, but Marinette is quickly learning that that’s alright too.

Soulmates—whether they’re together or not, whether they’re romantic or platonic, whether they’re close or far apart—they’re still important. They still mean something. They still matter.

“How much do you love her?” Ladybug asks him.

Chat Noir is silent for a moment before he replies, “Enough that it hurts to lose her.”

His answer causes her to stop and run shaky fingers over her wrist. She thinks of Adrien’s face when he saw her bare wrist: pale and lost, like he had no idea what was happening. He can’t understand why she removed it—she supposes, if the time comes that they’re ever together again, she’ll put it back.

It’ll always read  **0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s.** It still works—there’s just nothing to count down to anymore.

A claw-tipped finger joins hers, tracing over the spot where her timer used to be. She knows he can’t feel anything beneath it. The cuff disappeared with the Miraculous. “It’s okay to hurt,” he tells her suddenly, squeezing her tighter against him, “if you regret it.”

“I don’t regret anything,” she says. “I know I’m where I need to be right now.”

Silver moonlight peeks through the sparse clouds decorating the evening sky, a sliver of light falling over them in an allayed line, like a compass pointing North—to home, to each other. Ladybug closes her eyes and leans back against her partner, feels his heartbeat through the fabric of her suit, and tries to imagine a world where they’re soulmates. Perhaps it would’ve made things easier, perhaps she’d still be in the same boat.

Either way, what matters now is that she’s happy, they’re together, and this is the story where she learns to fall in love.  

It’s as simple as that.

“I love you,” he says.

Instead of answering, she shifts her weight until she’s facing Chat Noir and presses her lips to his in a tender kiss. They come together like they’ve fallen into each other’s orbit and can only hold fast in the free fall. Her hands loop around his neck as he pulls her closer, and they sit on that rooftop against the hard brick of the chimney and kiss. Lost in each other, lost between soft lips and the wet slide of tongues, the hard clack of teeth as they take in as much as the other has to offer.

They’re just kissing and kissing and kissing.

Pliant and eager, so willing to fall with her, Chat Noir curves himself around the shape of her body, hands trailing down until they settle at her hips. He holds on tight as if he’s afraid she’ll leave, and the thought causes her to smile into the kiss. They’re so close together, not a sliver of space for any fear or doubt or hesitation—by now, they’ve made their choices, and both are living with the blessings and consequences that come with it.

“I love you too,” Ladybug whispers against his lips, and for the first time since she’s said those words to someone, she actually  _ means _ them.

In her chest, her heart won’t stop crashing against her ribs, but it doesn’t hurt, so swollen with love and joy and happiness. Chat Noir’s pulse races into her fingers as they come around to cradle his face, tracing his jawline, and she knows he feels it too. It’s this new territory they’re paving a path into, exploring what it means to be with someone of your choosing, learning how to fall in love with someone you know and who knows you in return. Nothing can take this feeling away.

Chat Noir finally pulls back, pressing their foreheads together as they both try to catch their breath, which comes out in harsh gaps, visible in the evening chill like a fog. His green eyes are bright, ears stained red from the cold, cheeks rosy with a warm blush. Ladybug knows she looks the same way.

“So this is it?” he asks. “We’re doing this. We’re seeing where this goes.”

Ladybug nods against him, shoulders still heaving forward as she gulps in air for her burning lungs. “Yes, yes. This is what I want, this is where I want to be. I want you, I just want  _ you _ .” She’s kissing him again—hard—desperate for more.

Marinette has spent too long yearning. It’s her turn to finally  _ have _ .

By now, the sun has dipped below the horizon, everything dark and quiet. Paris is beautiful and familiar and comfortable and perfect, and their quaint little rooftop is the only place she wants to be.

At her hip, Chat Noir’s timer blinks out a steady zero. Miles away, her own timer blinks in tandem beside Adrien’s bed, laid lovingly in a wooden box that contains his mother’s jewelry, where everything precious and important to him goes.

Her heart pulses in time with both.

Their shared zeroes tell a story about love and heartache, about secrets and magic, about all the things they can’t quite understand yet.

Only time will tell.

Fate has a funny way of working things out.

*

 


End file.
